


Thin Lines

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Get out if you don't want to regenerate today."</i> - Sometimes, Jack hates the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 [Winter Companion Summer/Winter Holidays](http://wintercompanion.livejournal.com/247477.html).

**~Part 1~**

"There," the Doctor announced, pulling Clara along by her hand.

Clara looked around. The exhibition room was round, its high ceiling supported by a marble pillar in the centre, with five glass showcases of varying sizes ringing the pillar. The rest of the room was taken up by infoscreens and holographic displays, one of them showing a planet rotating in what appeared to be a hollow in the floor, but was probably just a holographic illusion.

It was empty of people, but then, they'd come after hours.

"A bit small for an exhibition about an entire planet," she said after a moment. The Doctor had been oddly insistent on coming here, and she was waiting for the catch.

"That's the brilliant part!" the Doctor informed her, looking around like a proud owner showing off his very own collection. A proud Time Lord showing off his very own universe. "This is all we've got - these five objects right here. Oh, we know what planet they're from," he gestured toward the holodisplay, "but the people who made them - no clue. Look!"

And he dragged her toward the first display case, which showed a round metal-and-stained-glass starscape suspended in air.

"They knew a lot about astronomy and astrophysics," the Doctor explained. "Look, there's the colour for spectral class, and the metalwork in the framing, that gives both absolute and apparent magnitude, as seen from the planet." His expression looking at the exhibit was odd, excited but almost unhappy "It's how they found out where this came from, originally. Be'tari smugglers - they do that, with pre-industrial worlds."

Clara blinked. The artwork was gorgeous, certainly, but ... "What happened to the planet?"

The Doctor pointed to one of the larger infoscreens. "Antediluvian," he said. And indeed, it said _Antediluvian Exhibition_ at the top. The Doctor deigned to explain. "Literally. Polar caps melted, whole culture drowned. Not much left, under water. Just this. Leftovers," he grumped, waving at the display cases. "What do they say about them? Nothing, is what." 

"You could go back and find out," Clara said slowly. "We could."

The Doctor smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Where's your sense of mystery? You can't go clear up everything, wouldn't that be boring?"

What the hell? 

"Look," the Doctor said again, dragging her along to the next display case.

This one was a sort of metal-grid bowl with two separate hollows, a reddish sphere at the bottom of one and a yellow-white at the other. To Clara's eyes it looked like a fancy and impractical fruit bowl, but according to the infoplate next to it, the curving gridwork portrayed the planet's two suns and the way their gravity distorted space.

Pretty cool, at that.

She turned to the Doctor, just in time to see him stiffen. He looked around the room, eyes flickering here and there, head going up and down and sideways, like a great big chicken moving its head here and there.

"Oh," he said, sounding dismayed.

"Doctor?" 

His eyes snapped to her face then, and he shook his head. "Clara, let's get out of here."

"What's wrong? We just got here." Damned if she was going to let him get away with just dragging her around without explanations.

He merely glared, and grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the doorway. She considered standing her ground, but then again, he might actually have a good reason.

They weren't quite to the exit when she started hearing steps, echoing in the empty corridor, and a moment later she saw him: a tall man in a long blue coat, hand on a gun at his belt, pulling it as he strode towards them.

The Doctor stopped, just looking at the man.

The man's eyes were glittering with anger, and Clara's stomach clenched. "Get out if you don't want to regenerate today," he said, nearly snarling.

Wait, what?

The Doctor's face, for once, was entirely unreadable. That wasn't a scowl, though his resting face would never be friendly - he was as neutral as Clara had ever seen him.

"Right," he said. "We'll do that."

And he pulled at Clara's arm, giving the man a wide berth and dragging her out of the room, not looking back.

Clara did, though. The man was still standing there, his gun lowered but not put away, glaring after them in furious, focused intent.

~*~

Clara tried to wrap her head around the Doctor just retreating like that, before _anyone_ , all the way back to the TARDIS. The Doctor didn't even stop inside, just strode right on to the console, and a moment later the Time Rotor engaged.

"Right!" the Doctor said brightly. "Let's just go to Palartis, why don't we? Much more exciting than stuffy old museums. You'll love the robots."

"No," Clara said, categorically.

"No?" The Doctor had the gall to look puzzled. "You do love robots. Well, when they're not being evil, but I promise, all non-evil and not trying to kill you, on Palartis. They wouldn't have it any other way."

"No," Clara repeated, firmly. "Not going to love the robots because we're not going to Palartis."

"We aren't?" He eyed her, puzzled. "Why not?"

"Because right now, you're going to explain to me who that man was, why he threatened to kill you, and why you just walked out like that."

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it again. Then: "I am?" He tilted his head, eyeing her. "You're insisting, aren't you? That's your insisting face."

"Doctor!"

He turned away from her, but she could still see him grimace. "He hates me," he muttered. Stating the obvious.

"And?" Clara threw up her hands in frustration. "It's not like you to just back out like that."

The Doctor scuffed his toes, not meeting her eyes. "He might have actually done it, you know. Shot me." He was speaking to a spot on the floor, somewhere between their feet. "I might have let him," he added, almost inaudibly.

" _What?_ "

He looked up after all, and his expression was bleak. "That's why I left," he said, his eyes burning into hers. "Because I wouldn't have stopped him."

Not _wouldn't have been able to_ , just _wouldn't_.

Clara had never seen him like that. The Doctor, suicidal? Surely not. 

"That's not exactly convincing me he's the bad guy here," she said, fake-brightly. She wasn't going to get anything from him unless she kept poking. Luckily, she was good at that. 

The Doctor wasn't taken in for a minute. "He's a good man." Said with conviction.

Clara blinked. "And he hates you."

"This century he does." A shrug. "Not that it hasn't been piling up. The Captain's ... been around a while."

She narrowed her eyes. " _The Captain?_ Is that like _the Doctor_?"

"No." The Doctor scowled.

"That means yes."

"It means no." A brief hesitation. "He's not a Time Lord. It's just complicated."

Clara considered for a long moment. "I see," she said after a moment.

"See?" he huffed. "What do you see?"

"What did you do to him?" she asked gently.

The Doctor's eyes widened for a second; then he turned away again. "Not to him," he said brusquely. "He wouldn't be that angry if it had been him."

And that was as much as he would give her, no matter how much she kept poking.

~*~

**~Part 2~**

"Yes!" the Doctor exclaimed, and actually lifted up the Viryian engineer they'd been working with, twirling her in the air as she spread her vestigial wings for balance. Granted, Viryians were only about a metre tall, so it was easy enough. "We did it!" He set the engineer down again and turned to Clara.

"Don't you try that with me," Clara said, but she was beaming as much as he. This, _this_ was why travelling with the Doctor would always be worth it, never mind what else came with it. They'd finally managed to open the airlock that had sealed in a few hundred people in a damaged section, and not a moment too soon. She cracked her knuckles. There was more to do, of course. Like preventing the hackers who'd sabotaged the system from doing it again. Alien computer networks were so fascinating ...

She turned around, looking over the relieved faces around her and the monitors displaying the first-aid teams rushing to help the released civilians, more than half of them avian Viryians, but also stick-thin, skeletal Be'tari, humans and human-looking people with bluish skin, and a reptilian species she'd never seen before.

That was when she noticed the Doctor's head come up, his eyes suddenly intent, and he stood as if bracing himself for impact. Her head snapped around.

A man in a long blue coat was striding towards them, lift doors still opening behind him. 

Clara moved closer to the Doctor, readying herself to get between them if necessary. Whatever the Doctor might have done, she wasn't about to let someone kill him. And she _certainly_ wasn't about to let him _let_ someone.

The Captain stopped before the Doctor, not even an arm's length apart, and they seemed to be having some sort of wordless conversation conducted in intense looks and bodies angling towards each other. Clara's eyebrows went up.

And then even more up, as far as they could go, as the Captain lifted a hand and gently cupped the Doctor's face. A smile broke out on the Captain's face, warm and bright. The Doctor's scowling focus didn't change, not even as the Captain leaned closer and brushed their lips together in a surprisingly tender gesture.

They stood, completely absorbed in each other, not moving or speaking, not even kissing again.

"Jack," the Doctor said, eventually, querulous and uncertain at once.

 _Jack?_ The Captain was called Jack?

She put her hands to her hips, elbows out. "All right, what's going on here?" Clara demanded, stepping forward. "I hope this isn't just a prelude for more threats."

 _Captain Jack_ turned to her and looked her over, head to toe - that should have been creepy, but it was accompanied by a bright, saucy grin and a wink that had her open-mouthed for a moment, utterly stunned. Who _was_ this guy?

Damn, they were attracting an audience. The Viryian engineer they'd worked with looked between the two men in apprehension; the Doctor waved her off, eyes not straying from the Captain for a moment.

"Oh, that's right, I remember seeing you," the Captain said, smiling at Clara. A thousand-watt movie-star smile, except devastatingly genuine and infectious, nothing like the deadly fury she'd seen in him before. "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

She snapped her mouth shut and threw the Doctor a glare. He looked back at her in fake incomprehension. "Clara," she said, repressively. "I'm with him." She jabbed an elbow in the Doctor's direction.

"I can see that." Captain Jack's blue eyes were full of wry humour. He turned a little so he'd be speaking to both of them. "Saved the day again, I see."

"And where were you, hm? While we were doing all the work," the Doctor grumped, but his eyes were smiling.

"Oh, I knew the system was in good hands with you," Captain Jack said breezily. "I was a bit busy arresting a bunch of saboteurs. They're all locked up now." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, presumably in the direction of the brig. His eyes had turned hard, and for the first time Clara saw an echo of the man she'd encountered in the museum.

Looking at would-be mass-murdering saboteurs the way he'd looked at the Doctor.

"Good job," the Doctor said, and there was an echoing chill in his voice.

The two men nodded at each other; then Captain Jack shrugged apologetically and tapped a finger against a device on his left wrist. "Sorry I can't stay," he said. "Catch up some other time, Doc."

He lifted a hand, brushing the tips of his fingers along the side of the Doctor's face, and with a last brilliant grin, he was gone.

Clara and the Doctor both looked after him, the Doctor with a wistful expression and Clara with confusion.

~*~

Back in the TARDIS, Clara stepped in the Doctor's way, blocking his path to the console and looking at him, eyebrows and hands on hips prompting him.

He scowled at her, and for a moment she thought he'd just walk around her, but then he stopped, brushing a hand untidily through his grey hair, and made a wordless, grumpy noise.

"Yes?" she said, brightly, expectantly.

"We're meeting out of sequence," the Doctor said, abruptly. "I suppose we made up, some point in between." A shrug. "We always do."

"No, really," Clara said, amping up the sarcasm. "I never would have guessed."

The Doctor only shrugged again.

" _What_ is going on with you two?" she demanded, exasperated. "Last time we saw him he threatened to kill you, now he's all ... all ... Captain Jack Flirty at you! You don't think that's a bit extreme, as mood swings go? And," she added, the final condemnation, "you let him kiss you!"

"Well, why not?" the Doctor huffed. "He's a good kisser, no point in wasting it."

She could have snarled at him. But he'd only have laughed and made some crack about crinkles and wrinkles on her face. "Do you _know_ how dysfunctional you two sound?"

Another shrug. "You try knowing someone for that long."

Wait a minute. Not-a-Time Lord Captain Jack hadn't looked a day older, but ... " _How_ much time passed for him, since the museum? He looks the same age."

"He always does." The Doctor scratched at the back of his neck. "Even I can't tell. Time travel and all - his timeline's so tangled ... But a few centuries, give or take."

Clara considered for a moment. Not as drastic and inexplicable a mood swing as she'd thought, then, but still. " _What_ did you do to him?" she asked again, uncomfortably aware she didn't doubt he'd done _something_. That was easy enough to believe. 

And she kept going with him, nonetheless.

The Doctor looked away. "Nothing I haven't done before."

And with that, once again, the subject was closed.

~*~

**~Part 3~**

After their first day on Palartis - she'd let him talk her into going there after all, and he'd been right, she did love the robots - they stumbled back into the TARDIS. Clara leaned against the console, stretching, exhausted but mind still whirring. They hadn't made much inroads on the mystery _du jour_ , yet, and the Doctor was poking at his console, scanning furiously for any out-of-place readings.

After a while, the Doctor abruptly stopped and walked over to her. He leaned forward, peering critically at her face.

"What?" she asked. She knew better than to say, _Have I got something on my face?_ She'd done that once, and he'd told her she had _face_ on her face, too bad she couldn't get rid of it. Nope; not doing that again.

He stood up straight. "Rings under your eyes, you look terrible," he said abruptly. "We can find out where the mystery alien sightings are coming from later. Take a nap in the library; clearly you need your beauty sleep." And then he smiled at her, wide and bright and insincere.

She opened her mouth to give him the verbal eyeroll, but a long yawn welled up from her lungs, betraying her. Damn.

"There you go," the Doctor said, vindicated, and made a shooing motion with both hands.

Clara considered. "Good night," she said, and left the console room toward the library, yawning in the doorway.

"Don't fall into the swimming pool!" the Doctor called behind her, and she rolled her eyes for real this time.

Around the corner, she took off her shoes and tip-toed back. Peeking carefully through the doorway, she could see the Doctor rushing around the console. After a circuit or two he stopped, looked toward the doorway - she ducked back as she saw him turning, just in time - and a moment later, she could hear the tell-tale whine of the Time Rotor engaging, and its pulsing lights swept into the corridor.

It didn't take long; it never did. Rough and bumpy like a plane landing executed by a clumsy pilot, the TARDIS materialised.

Wherever the Doctor was going all of a sudden, whatever he was hiding, she wasn't going to let him ditch her like this. She sprinted through the console room just as the door was closing behind the Doctor, shoes still held in her hand. A careful peek, and out she was, going after him.

They'd materialised in some sort of storage room, full of large crates and shelves filled with smaller, labelled boxes, and bulky objects encased in opaque protective energy fields. When she peeked into the corridor outside the single door, she could just see the Doctor vanish around a corner to the right.

And she knew where they were, and why the Doctor was here.

Well, not _why_. But because of whom.

Eyes alight with curiosity, she hurried through the familiar museum corridor, careful not to touch the distinctive blue stripes on the walls with the info-and-guidance system.

Another corner, and this one opened into an exhibition hall.

 _The_ exhibition hall, in fact - Clara could see the screens describing the Antediluvian exhibition, the holodisplays as well as the security glass display cases with the actual, real objects themselves.

And the Captain was there, just where he'd been before, looking out of the exit on the opposite side. He whirled around, recognised the Doctor, and snarled. "I told you to go."

"Did," the Doctor snapped back, walking slowly towards the Captain. "Just didn't stay gone."

Viciously, " _This_ time." 

"I'm contrary like that."

"Bad habit of yours."

The two men stood next to the display case on the other side of the room, just visible around the central pillar. While they were occupied glaring at each other, Clara made a quick dash for the pillar, pressing herself against the marble.

The Doctor stood there, hands on his hip, looking cocky as hell. "Going to do something about that?" he dared the Captain.

"Get. Out." The words sounded half-strangled, bitten off, and furious as hell.

"No."

Did the Doctor really know how far he could push this man? Even - or especially - if he did deserve that anger.

The Captain's fist came flashing toward the Doctor's face, but the Doctor must have been expecting it - he caught the punch easily in his palm, absorbing its considerable force with a small step back.

"No," he repeated.

"Yes," Captain Jack retorted immediately. "I warned you."

"Warnings," the Doctor said disdainfully, and even though Clara could only see him from an angle she could imagine just the expression that would go with it. "You're one to talk - _you_ usually call them enticements, don't think I've forgotten."

The Doctor, Clara thought with a sinking feeling, was actively trying to provoke the Captain now.

And the Captain must be noticing. His gun came up again. "Do you have a death wish?" he snarled.

"Has your brain turned into jelly?" the Doctor retorted in kind. "Now shoot, or put that thing away."

If Captain Jack was in any way like a normal person - and the jury was still out on that one, Clara decided - that kind of condescension was guaranteed to rile him up. It still worked on Clara, all too often, even when she knew better.

Though the Captain had already been riled up enough, hadn't he? Clara watched with morbid fascination, wondering just how much more _up_ he could get.

"You," Captain Jack said, making a dangerous-looking motion with his gun, a slow-and-calculated adjustment of aim, "are _not making this better._ "

"Of course not," the Doctor snapped. "Even I'm not arrogant enough to try."

Silence descended for a moment; then the Captain put his gun away after all, his shoulders slumping, his posture miserable. He ran a hand over his face, rubbed tiredly at his forehead. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, sounding tired more than anything.

"Time loop," the Doctor said, and Clara winced, recognising his most flippant tone. "Met you again, realised we'd made up, might as well get it over with now, what do you say?" All thrown in Jack's face at rapid-gun speed.

"Birtral is a crater because of you. Do you know how many are dead? All because you couldn't be bothered to check, afterwards."

Clara's gut clenched. She could imagine that all too easily, arrogance and negligence and all. What did that say about him? What did it say about her, that she still thought he was a good man?

"Three thousand four hundred and five." The Doctor sounded flippant, but Clara knew better. She hoped Captain Jack did, too.

"So you do still count the dead."

"Tried looking away. Tried forgetting. Didn't work for me."

"I don't forgive you." The Captain's voice was hard and unforgiving.

"Don't need you to," the Doctor said, acerbically.

"And now you're lying."

Silence again. The Doctor was fidgeting; Captain Jack had been right. Definitely lying. _Ouch._

Captain Jack snarled, hands shoving at the Doctor's shoulders, slamming him against the display case next to them. "You always do this," he snapped.

"No, I don't," the Doctor contradicted, and Clara recognised the belligerent stance - chin lifted, teeth no doubt bared. He pushed himself away from the glass behind him, propelling himself into the Captain. Captain Jack swayed backwards a little, but didn't budge. Furious energy sizzled between them.

Then the Doctor's head moved forward, and the Captain flinched back as if struck. Their lips had touched.

For a moment they both stood frozen, the Doctor still looking like he was spoiling for a fight, the Captain with the perfect stillness of someone suppressing a powerful reflex.

"Be careful what you ask for," Captain Jack said after a moment, sounding strangled and raw.

"Not asking," the Doctor said, contrary as usual.

The Captain's stance didn't soften. The furious energy didn't disperse. When he lifted his hands, Clara thought it was even odds he'd go for the Doctor's throat.

He didn't.

His hand closed around the back of the Doctor's neck, not his throat, and he pulled him in roughly.

"If you stay," he said, speaking against the Doctor's mouth, "I'm going to _hurt you._ "

He sounded like he meant it, and Clara nearly started forward out of her hiding place.

The Doctor managed a huff. It sounded strange to Clara, not up to his usual standards. "Do your worst," he challenged, voice hoarse with ...

... with arousal, Clara realised, cursing herself. What had she got herself into? How quickly could she get away?

"I will," Captain Jack promised, darkly. "But first ..." His head snapped around, and his cold blue eyes were directly on her. "Not that I don't like an audience."

The Doctor let out a frustrated hiss, throwing up his hands. "Exhibitionist," he growled. And then he turned around, and Clara found herself being glared at by two pairs of eyes at once, blue and intense.

She flushed and came out from behind the pillar. "Sorry?" she said, aiming for brightly but missing by a mile.

The Doctor scowled at her. "Go away," he said, waving his hand towards the door. "If I wanted an audience I'd find someone less sneaky. What's the point of an audience, anyway, if you don't know they're there?"

That last went to the Captain, who raised his eyebrows in turn, expression cool. "You knew she was there. Who's the exhibitionist, Doctor?"

Clara winced. Had he known? "Well, you're the one who tried to _sneak out_ on me. Seriously - send me off for a nap, will you?" She glared right back.

The Doctor merely shrugged. "Off you go," he repeated.

Clara looked at him, closely. He seemed impatient, grumpy, quarrelsome - his usual self. But she remembered too well what he'd said to her, the last time they'd been here. And whatever there was between the Doctor and the Captain - whatever the Doctor had done, whatever he might let the Captain do in penance - there were things she couldn't just look away from.

She came forward instead and stood before the Captain, studying his cool, hooded expression. He met her eyes, unimpressed.

"I hope you know when to stop," she said calmly.

An eyebrow twitched up at that, at the same moment the Doctor exclaimed a scandalised, "Clara!"

"He'll live," the Captain said, noncommittally. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, "Don't worry, I'm not letting him play the penance card." A sliver of ... something ... showed through the Captain's mask.

He knew what he was doing, Clara thought, anger or no. No; whatever the Doctor thought, the Captain didn't hate him. He might be furious at him, but not that.

If she still loved the Doctor, lies and everything - apparently, so did Captain Jack.

She nodded at them both and turned, walking toward the door, feeling both their eyes at the back of her neck every step.

Abruptly she stopped and turned.

"Doctor," she asked, "why did you bring me here? Before."

He looked at her, eyes shrouded. "Leftovers," he said. "It's all leftovers. Relics. Sometimes they can be beautiful. I'm trying to remember."

Oh. _Oh._ She might have realised that.

The Doctor shrugged, looking simultaneously uncomfortable and smug, a very Doctor-ish achievement. "You should always appreciate beautiful relics."

Captain Jack let out a sound that Clara was startled to realise must be a strangled laugh. Humourless, no comparison to the bright, flirty cheer she'd seen in him on the Viryian space station, but a laugh nonetheless.

The Doctor turned, meeting the Captain's eyes. "Relics," he repeated.

"We both are." It sounded like a concession, grudgingly made.

"Except _you_ can go back," the Doctor amended, huffily.

"Except yours can _come_ back," Captain Jack snapped, and they were glaring at each other again, forgetting she was even in the room.

Quietly, Clara tiptoed toward the doorway.

She remembered the tender brush of lips against lips, on the Viryian station, and imagined them kissing now - snarl against snarl. Harsh and soft, cruel and kind. How contrary. How very like the Doctor.

It was good to know he wasn't alone with it.

With a smile on her face she walked back to the TARDIS, to have that nap after all.


End file.
